


The Ask & the Answer

by annundriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day by day, they're building a life together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ask & the Answer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tofsla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofsla/gifts).



> For toft, who requested, "Dorian & Bull, post-Inquisition—a tiny bit of them making a life together, whatever damned wonky way they go about that." I hope you enjoy!

A pattern of days emerges after the defeat of Corypheus. The Inquisitor goes out and closes rifts, deals with stray demons and Venatori. Thedas begins to heal. It’s not easy, and it’s not fun, and Dorian is tired of smelling of stagnant water and sour mud. He’s tired of the wind and the rain and uncountable days of traveling. The aches and the pains he’s _almost_ grown accustomed to. He hadn’t thought things would be, necessarily, easier—he’s not naïve—but he’s surprised when the days are just as long, and the nights feel just as short, and Dorian is _tired_.

But then, sometimes, he turns to find the Bull behind him, turns to find the Bull’s hand out to catch his elbow when he stumbles or sneak a quick grope of his ass. Sometimes he turns and the Bull is looking at him with this expression that Dorian can’t place but thinks he’s read about (remembers hoping for back in his younger years when there was still _possibility_ in the world). The lines of the Bull’s face are softer, his gaze warm enough for Dorian to feel it in his bones, and Dorian knows with a certainty that shocks him that this—this thing that started with the Bull when they were both looking for distraction (comfort)—is _it_.

This is it.

Time passes, and the days shift into a new pattern, rearranging themselves into something that gives Dorian more time with books and letters, more time to settle into his new self. _His southern self_ , he thinks with a chuckle, curled up in the chair that’s been his since they began their occupation of Skyhold. It’s where he spends his afternoons. Has discovered that when he cracks the window on warmer days, he can hear the Bull training down in the yard.

 _His southern self_ , he thinks, and then stops, page mid-turn, because that’s…that’s it and it isn’t, not at all. He has changed since Tevinter, it’s true, and yet he’s more himself than he ever was. His world was shaken—everyone’s was—and Dorian’s has settled back around him in an almost unrecognizable arrangement and he is happy. In a drafty fortress in the middle of bloody nowhere, with regular treks into the wild and a library that will take a year at least to re-catalogue—

in the yard below, he can hear the Bull shouting

—and the Bull at his side and back, in his bed.

The Bull, who finds him in the middle of the day and drags him to eat, pulling him outside with his big— _Maker, are they big_ , he thinks with a shiver—hands. Who brings him hot cocoa when it’s chilly and coffee when he’s tired. Who likes to sleep in as much as Dorian does, and doesn’t mind cold toes against his shins.

The Iron Bull, who likes to be thought of as a mindless weapon, but whose hands are gentle as they undo the bindings at Dorian’s wrists and ankles. Who is perceptive and kind and knows how to push when Dorian needs it and step back when he doesn’t.

He is, perhaps, the biggest surprise of all.

Dorian closes his book and sets it aside, heads down and down until he’s outside, the air pleasingly warm today. He finds the Bull exactly where he knew he’d be. There’s a shield in one hand, his weapon in the other. He’s shouting at Krem about blocking and Krem is shouting back, and Dorian looks at them both and laughs.

The Bull looks at him, unable to hide the grin that pulls at his mouth. “You think you can do better, Dorian?”

Shaking his head, Dorian closes some of the distance between them. “No,” he says, “but I also don’t have to try. I know I have you to protect me.” He bats his eyelashes, pleased when the Bull chuckles. “And I can take care of myself.”

“Damn right you can,” the Bull says, and he’s got that look on his face, that appreciative look that makes Dorian’s blood run hot.

To his right, Krem groans. “The two of you should get a room.”

“We’ve got one,” the Bull says. “A couple of them in fact. All ours. Didn’t you kno—”

“We _all_ know.” Krem turns to put his shield away, waving a hand at both of them.

The Bull chuckles, and looks to him. Dorian doesn’t have to say anything, and he’s putting his weapon up, putting the shield away. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go back to those rooms.”

It’s easy to follow the Bull, easy to be led by someone he trusts. The view isn’t bad, either, no matter what Dorian claims out loud. The Bull always knows what he means and what he doesn’t, isn’t afraid to tell Dorian when he’s being an asshole or apologize for being one himself. They’re still learning, still feeling things out, but they know each other now. They know each other better than anyone else ever has, and that thought makes Dorian feel giddy, his chest too tight and his heart too big.

He wonders how he’ll feel about it in a year’s time, in two. In a decade. Will the Bull still look at him when his joints begin to ache and his hair is graying at his temples like he looks at him now? Will his gaze linger still on the curve of Dorian’s shoulder and the line of his hip?

The door to their rooms— _their_ rooms—latches behind him, and when Dorian turns to face the Bull, catches the look on his face full of words they haven’t said but that Dorian knows they’re working toward with each day, each week—words that will come easily in a decade—he knows what the answer is. He doesn’t need to ask, and the Bull doesn’t need to answer. They will cross those bridges when they come to them, but the answer will always be yes, yes.

 _Yes_.


End file.
